


never been no Valentino

by scarecrowes



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowes/pseuds/scarecrowes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie didn't always take business that seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never been no Valentino

There’s a broad downtown who’s one of Goodman’s regulars - Salvatore’s sure seen enough of her, anyway. She’s older than he is, but not by much, strawberry blonde and Brooklyn sounding. She wears a lot of rings - costume jewelry, he knows because he’s pawned stuff like it - and offers him a smile and a wink every time she signs off on her order. 

Which is why the fifth or sixth time he strolls into the shop, he dares to grin and asks her when she takes her break. 

“Dunno, handsome. But how’s about I give you a tip?” 

“...Sure.” 

Goodman wouldn’t mind if he ran a little late.

She’s the one who drags him into the fitting room anyway, the store gone quiet with midmorning and the order he’d delivered set neatly behind the counter. 

“What’s your name, baby?” 

She has him all pushed up against the door, trousers undone and pushed around his thighs. 

“Sal,” he mumbles. She says something else, that she’s thought about doing this before maybe, but he’s focused mostly on her hand stroking him, god _damn_ she knows what she’s doing -- 

He finishes too quick. She giggles, lets him kiss her, and drags his hand against her thigh.

He balks. 

“I’m still hot, daddy.” She says it in a mewling little girl’s voice, but the vice grip of her hand over his goes straight to his gut. “You can’t go yet, huh?” 

And she sidles to the chair and spreads her legs wide, and Goodman’s gonna fucking murder him if he wastes any more time getting back to the shop. 

He’s pretty sure it’ll be worth it. 

She has freckles on the insides of her thighs, and knots her hands in his hair to yank him close, no room for hesitating even if he wants to. And he does, but she smiles and cants her hips up -- and there are very few things Salvatore will say no to with pussy that close to his face. 

One swipe of his tongue and she makes a noise, bucks, smiles at him again.

“You do this before, sweetheart?” Her voice is breathy and she’s pushing his curls into his eyes.

He doesn’t know if he should lie or not, so he swallows and doesn’t say a thing. 

“Just watch your teeth.” 

He doesn’t know what to focus on, she’s wet-sweet and she makes this little noise when he pushes in close though, burying his tongue inside her. And eventually she pushes him back, her tiny lacquered nails spreading against her damp skin and she points. 

“Right here, honey.” 

He blinks, nods. Right there. He can do that. 

And she squeals, the point of one of her heels knocking into his back and the twist of her fingers through his hair saying he did _something_ right. She ruts and he starts getting hard again, sliding a hand between his legs as she moans and curls against his mouth--

\-- except then she kicks out at his shoulder, and he’s left flat on the floor. 

“What the fuck--” 

“Shh!” 

The bell from the front door chimes a second time, and she’s on her feet, trying to straighten her dress and pull her panties up her thighs. 

“You’ll have to sneak out the window.” she breathes, and Sal stares at her.

“...What?” 

“The window!” She says, pointing at the small glass pane and he still stares at her. 

He wants to snap or bare his teeth - or push her back down because they weren’t _done yet_ \- except she’s already shutting the door behind her. 

“...I need you to sign the..” 

Delivery confirmation. 

Shit. 

It takes him a second - after fixing his trousers and doing his best at the mirror to look like a girl hadn’t twisted his pomade slicked-hair into knots - to even get the window open. And he’s fairly sure he kicks the chair over in hoisting himself up - but that’s not his problem, anyway. 

Stupid cooze. Stupid customers. 

Salvatore lands in the alley out back and groans at the jolt it sends up his legs - still shaking slightly, confused in the whiplash between arousal and panic. 

“Shit,” he breathes. The unsigned and now slightly crumpled form stares back at him as he tugs it from his pocket.

Goodman’s gonna kill him. He hunts for a pencil, something to forge it with, but he just has a couple of bills, his smokes and his knife. 

“Ah, hell.”

So he rounds the building, and there she is again - strawberry blonde and showing off one of the new hats to another girl, through the window. 

He raps on it, pane rattling against his knuckles. They both jump, and the unfolded sheet smacks against the glass under the pressure of his finger.

“Need you to sign for it, sweetie.” 

She’s all flush and bared teeth, brandishing a pen at him like a knife as she opens the door. The X she leaves across the dotted line is off-balance, furious.

“Now _shoo._ ”

Sal grins, tipping his hat as he pedals back. One of her rings jingles in his pocket.  

“Pleasure doin’ business.”  

There’s nothing but a frustrated shriek that follows him down the block. 


End file.
